Episode 60: Emile Plumber

About the time I was dodging Dave S. in the hallways of A.G.A., my parents asked me to come house sit with their three Pekingese at their place in Cabin John. It was winter and they were headed west for a teacher’s association convention

All went well until Saturday when the temperature dropped precipitously. The basement at best was partially finished and certainly not well insulated. A pipe burst and I rushed to call the go-to plumber for Cabin John.

“Emile Plumber,” he answered the phone immediately. Emile was a former Czech wrestler who had defected to the United States during a team tour. He was enormous and was married to a petite piano teacher.

I explained my problem and he came right over. I left him alone to work and gave him a credit card when he finished.

The following Monday, the phone on my desk at A.G.A. rang. No Caller ID then.

I picked up the receiver, gave my name and heard a very distinctive, deep voice. “Is Emile Plumber.”

“Emile? Didn’t the credit card go through?"

“Ve must talk!”

“Talk? The payment went through, right?”

“Yes, yes. Card vent through. Ve must talk.”

“Uh, talk about what?” My eyebrows went up, and so did those of my office mate, Gary. He had heard about Emile Plumber.

“Us. About us!”

“About us? Whaat?”

“You and me. I know you feel it too.”

Feel it? I stared at the phone. I hadn’t spent more than a half hour total in Emile Plumber’s company in all the years I’d known him. Gary leaned in to better hear.

“Well, I don’t think I do feel it. I barely know you. . .” I mouthed to Gary, Can you believe this?

“Ve haf something special, you and me.” Emile’s voice had grown softer.

Hunh? The image of this giant man with ample plumber’s butt came to me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come, meet me at house.”

“No, I won’t. My parents are coming home tonight.”

“Ver else, den?”

“Nowhere else, Emile,” I said practically shouting. “You and I have nothing between us. Nothing.”

“Ve don’t haf to hide, wife don’t care.” I imagined not, given how enormous he was.

“Gaaaaah! Emile, you’re crazy. I DON’T LIKE YOU! Don’t ever call me again.”

I slammed down the phone and immediately thought, What if he’s a 340-pound stalker?

Gary and I fully examined the problem and decided stalking was unlikely.

Happily, I never heard another peep out of Emile Plumber.

One of the oddest phone conversations I ever had.